


Chase You Down

by endquestionmark



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endquestionmark/pseuds/endquestionmark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, the formatting on the previous post got screwed up, so I'm reposting.  Sorry to all.</p><p>Actor!AU where Erik Lensherr is an acclaimed actor and Charles Xavier doesn't watch nearly enough movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“This is the chance of a lifetime,” Raven says, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“No,” says Charles firmly. He looks around for his thesis. Raven follows his eyes and grips the desk a little more firmly, and Charles sighs, noticing the corner of a thick book poking out from under her leg.

“I’m not getting off your thesis until you say yes,” she says reasonably.

Charles sits down and puts his head in his hands. “Why can’t Alex take you?”

“Because Alex is taking _Darwin_ ,” she says pointedly. “Which you didn’t tell me.”

“You were both at that New Year’s party,” Charles says. “It’s hardly my fault that you didn’t notice them cuddling on the sofa.”

“Okay,” she says, outraged, “ _everyone_ was cuddling at that party. Which is what happens when you let Sean mix drinks. So? Is that a yes? Yes, right?”

“Why can’t you go alone?” says Charles, in a last-ditch effort to preserve his independence.

“Professor MacTaggert won’t let me,” Raven says indignantly.

“Moira?” Charles says, and instantly regrets it, given the sharp look Raven throws at him. “Why not?”

“Remember the cast party last week?” Raven says. “The one for Darwin’s audition?”

Charles nods.

“Remember when Sean broke the window and Darwin nearly drowned in a fish tank and Angel broke the couch and Alex set a statue on fire?”

“And you tried to breakdance with Hank,” Charles says. “Yes, I remember it. Vividly.” And that despite the drinks. Charles almost wishes he had forgotten.

“That’s why,” Raven says, folding her arms.

“Oh, god,” Charles groans. “All right. As long as you promise not to dance.”

“I knew I could count on you!” she says happily, hopping off the desk and hugging him before heading for the door.

“Oh, and no sweatervests,” she says, turning in the doorway. “Remember, this is an Erik Lensherr premiere, not Librarians Anonymous.”

“ _Who?_ ” Charles says.

Raven freezes.

She turns, slowly, to face him.

“My brother,” she says, “lives under a rock. _Did you hear that_ ,” she calls down the hallway. “ _He lives under a rock with his thesis!_ ”

Charles covers his ears.

Alex looks into the room. “Dude, didn’t you see _Aquarium_? _Nazi Hunters_? _Shark Attack_ one through three?”

Charles blinks. “He seems to like fish,” he hazards.

There’s a muffled shriek of frustration from Raven.

“Dude, isn’t he your type?” Alex says.

“Yeah,” says Raven. “Tall, dark, and brooding.”


	2. Chapter 2

“ _What_ ,” says Sean, “are you wearing.”

Behind him Angel crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to give him some leeway,” she says. “A little birdie told me that he lives under a rock.”

Charles groans and presses two fingers to his temple to ward off the headache he knows is inevitable. “Couldn’t I just not go,” he says.

“We’ve got tons of suits down in Costume,” Angel says, considering.

“We don’t just need a suit, we need a miracle,” Sean says, raking a hand through his hair. “ _Look_ at that sweater.”

Angel narrows her eyes and looks Charles up and down, and Charles feels as if his soul, or at least his eating and exercise habits for the last two months, have been comprehensively searched. He looks down at the floor.

“You’d be surprised, honey,” Angel says finally to Sean. “We might be able to make do with the suit and some good karma.”

Charles just looks at them.

“It’ll have to be your karma,” Sean says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m all out.”

\---

“ _Damn_ ,” Alex says, looking Charles up and down, and far too many people have been doing that recently in Charles’ opinion.

“He cleans up nice, doesn’t he?” Sean says, grinning and preening. “I knew it.”

“Jerk,” Angel says, grinning. “You wouldn’t know potential if it came up and bit you on the ass.”

Charles looks at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look half bad, admittedly - given that he seems to become a penguin when placed anywhere within twenty feet of a suit, Angel’s done a fantastic job.

The door opens and Raven comes in and stops dead.

“Where is my brother and what have you done with him,” she says.

“ _Thank_ you for that,” Charles says, nettled.

“You’re welcome,” Raven says sweetly. “Now come on, body snatcher, or we’ll be late.”

“Look at them all grown up,” Angel says, wiping away an imaginary tear as Raven drags Charles out by the arm.

“Don’t take candy from strangers!” Sean adds.


	3. Chapter 3

An hour into the premiere and Charles is already to drunk to pay much attention to what’s happening on screen, which is completely his own fault. He could never resist a meter-long mixed drink. He vaguely remembers the film beginning, but right now he has an arm around a gorgeous redhead (Lilian? Lila? He can’t be bothered to remember), and he doesn’t really have enough sobriety left to focus on much else.

Just then there’s a commotion at the door and a brief slice of light in the cinema before darkness returns. There’s a brief tug at his shoulder and Lilia’s soft body is gone before another settles back into the curve of Charles’ arm. Charles is still dazed from the light, which probably explains why he doesn’t register the broad shoulders at first.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit here,” someone says, and Charles notices the low register of the voice and pulls his arm back. “No, s’fine,” he manages, as his eyes finally adjust to the dark, and _damn_.

Charles likes to think he’s not just a mind led around by his body, that’s he’s a better man than that, but god, okay, maybe just this once his mind can take a backseat.

The first thing Charles sees in the flicker of the projector is the shadow of a jawline, and then strong fingers curl around his wrist.

“It’s all right,” the man says. “You can leave that where it is.” His lips quirk upwards, and in the half-light Charles can’t tell if his eyes are green or blue, but he knows he’s staring, and this man is already going to be bad for him, Charles can tell.

He needs another drink.

\---

An hour and three drinks later and Charles still doesn’t know the man’s name. This should disturb him more than it does, but enough tequila and everything begins to seem rosy. Though they haven’t yet introduced themselves, they have discussed trashy romance novels, soup, and, for some reason, all the scientific disciplines, barely skirting the sexual bits of biology, for which Charles is profoundly grateful.

“I completely failed physics,” Charles admits. “It didn’t make sense in the slightest. To me, anyway,” he adds, taking another sip of something violently fruity. It has a cocktail umbrella, which is a sure sign of how low he’s sunk.

“The right-hand rule,” he goes on, gesturing a little too freely with his glass. The umbrella wings its way across the table and into a potted plant, and the other man stifles a laugh, eyes crinkling, and Charles loses his train of thought for not the first time. He can tell by the look on the other man’s face that he is very, very amused, probably because Charles is very, very drunk, and he should probably stop talking right now, but neither hell nor high water are going to make any difference here.

“Sorry,” he says, as light reflected in the pool ripples over the other man’s face. “Where was I?”

“The right hand rule,” the man says, curling his hand around the stem of his glass, and Charles is staring, staring, staring, god help him. He hasn’t stopped staring in the last two hours, and he has to remind himself to breathe. “Magnets,” he goes on. “Opposites attracting.”  
“And likes repel,” Charles says, leaning back a little as the man reaches forwards for a napkin. “See?”

“So I’m repulsive, am I,” the man says, smirking and leaning forward, and Charles wants to kiss him so badly that he can feel it, feel the tension wound tight down his spine. He leans back. “Or do you just like me?”

“Yep,” Charles says, because he really can’t think of anything else, and it takes a minute before he remembers to clarify, “Repulsive. Completely,” but by then the man is coming around the table, and Charles barely saves himself as his chair tips back.

The man laughs then, unrestrained and happy, and Charles is captivated. “What bright teeth you have,” he says, aware that he’s babbling.

“All the better to bite you with, my dear,” the man says, grinning, and Charles stumbles backwards, sudden heat in his face as he laughs and the other man catches him around the waist.

“You don’t _look_ repelled,” the man murmurs, inches away from Charles’ face, and Charles closes his eyes in hopes of retaining a few brain cells and murmurs, “Not really, it must be your animal magnetism.” He’s almost not breathing, they’re so close, and he adds, “I don’t even know your name.”

He pulls away and steps back just so he can take a breath without brushing against the other man’s chest, but he can still smell the leather of his jacket and the whiskey on his breath, and he takes another step, which would be a great idea if there was a floor to step on, which there fucking _isn’t_.

The last thing Charles sees before the room tips back and everything turns into bubbles is that face, beautiful clear eyes, then he crashes into the pool, and Raven is going to kill him so many ways.

There’s a burst of black in the water behind him, and Charles opens his mouth to hum the Jaws theme, because contrary to popular belief he does watch movies, but he’s still underwater, and the water burns in his nose before strong arms close around him, pulling him up to the surface.

“That wasn’t very polite,” the man whispers, and Charles can feel his breath, and the man’s body pressed to his back, and if he wasn’t coughing so hard he thinks he would say something like _I love you_ , or at least _Dear god, please, fuck me_ , but it comes out as wheezing, and the water is _really fucking cold_ , and the suit is soaked, and Angel is going to kill him too.

 _I should really go home_ , Charles thinks, against all evidence to the contrary.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, super-short chapter, but I couldn't really make it part of the one before or after.
> 
> In which Che may get a little too meta for her own good.

“I’ll take the sofa,” the other man says.

Charles can’t stand not knowing his name, so he grasps at one of the fragments of conversation that he actually _remembers_ from the last two hours and says, “You can be Mr. Magnet.”

“Because I’m so attractive?” the man says. “Mr. Magnet. Magnetman. Magneto.”

“Magneto,” Charles says, pulling the duvet closer around himself. “I like that. It sounds.. dangerous.”

The hotel is being very nice, Charles thinks, especially since it was their pool that Charles fell into, and he wonders briefly how - how _Magneto_ did it, convinced them to give him and Charles a room on such short notice, and he wonders even more briefly why he didn’t get two rooms while he was at it.

At some point Charles threw the remains of the suit in the bathtub, and he hopes they’re still there, for both the suit’s sake and his when Angel finds out; he was a little disappointed that Magneto wasn’t watching him strip, but he decides that that’s probably the tequila talking, and that he should really stop thinking before he does something stupid.

“Anyway,” he says, “we could always share,” and he tries to arrange himself under the covers into something resembling alluring but probably more similar to a contortionist giraffe. “Body heat, and - uh, yeah.”

Magneto pauses in the act of pulling his sodden turtleneck over his head.

“My friend,” he says, “you are _drunk_.”

Charles thinks that at least he has an excuse for staring.

“I don’t even know your name,” Magneto says, in a pitch-perfect imitation of Charles’ voice. “You’re an enigma; you’re Mr. X. I don’t go to bed with enigmas.”

“Professor X to you,” says Charles, turning over muzzily and ignoring the tiny sparks dancing across his skin, tickling. _I don’t go to bed with enigmas_ , he thinks, _well, may I get to know you then?_

The last thing he hears before he drops off is Magneto’s chuckle.

 _I could get used to this_ , he thinks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who pointed out that I accidentally double-posted Chapter 4; much appreciated!

Charles wakes up and wishes he was dead. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, until fragments of the previous night come filtering back, and then he briefly considers ending his life himself just so that he doesn’t have to think about it.

It’s like a slideshow of humilitation, and he particularly cringes at the _body heat_ line, which is pathetic, even for a guy who once told a girl which enzyme he would like to be.

(DNA helicase. To unzip her jeans, genes, get it, and thank god that hadn’t worked out, because she hadn’t. Gotten it.)

He’s progressing from the depression stage to acceptance when the bathtub rings.

It takes him a moment to process this, because smashed as he was, his faculties are pretty much up to scratch now, and he’s nearly completely sure that _bathtubs don’t ring_.

He drags the sheets off the bed with him as he stumbles through to the next room, where his late lamented dinner jacket lies crumpled in the tub.

Charles winces again, this time at the thought of what Angel will say, and flops to his knees, reaching into the tub and pulling his phone out of the wrinkled fabric. How it survived is completely beyond him, but that’s Hank’s department, and actually it’s Hank’s phone, so he’s pretty grateful for its survival in general, and isn’t really inclined to ask questions. He picks up.

“Hello,” he says, or at least tries to say; his mouth is drier than he thought, and it comes out a bit more like “ _Ngk_.”

“Charles?” someone shrieks. “ _Oh my god, Charles!_ ”

Charles nearly drops the phone; he presses two fingers to his temple to ward off karma in the form of a headache.

“My god, Sean,” he says, “I love you, your suits are marvelous, now _shut the fuck up_.”

“Charles?” says another voice. “How did it go?”

“Angel,” says Charles, “be an absolute darling and go throw Sean out a window.” He stumbles back into the bedroom, and on the other end of the line he can hear a muffled shriek followed by several thumps. Charles manages a smile and mashes the phone’s keys until it switches to speakerphone. He sets it on the room’s sole armchair and falls backward onto the bed.

The room is blissfully quiet, which doesn’t disturb him until he realizes that no one is talking, despite the fact that the phone is still connected, and then Raven’s voice says “ _Charles_ ,” in a tone that could freeze alcohol.

“Oh god,” Charles says, feeling the blood actually drain from his face, “Raven, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Darling,” says the other man, and suddenly everything goes quiet as he drags himself up to look over the sofa armrest. The fact that Charles shelves his impending doom to admire his bedhair says quite a lot. “Darling, it’s far too early for your exes to be calling-”

-and the moment shatters. There’s a crash from the other end of the phone, and Charles starts upright, forgetting that he’s wound in sheets, and nearly falls flat. “Raven,” he shouts, “are you-”

“ _Erik Lensherr_ ,” she shrieks, “You fucked Erik Lensherr?!”

“This is Erik Lensherr?” Charles asks, mildly confused.

“Yes, this is,” Erik says, and suddenly he’s three inches away from Charles’ ear. Charles jumps maybe halfway across the bed, and the springs squeal in protest.

“ _Charles fucked Erik_ ,” Raven is still screaming, and the phone’s speakers are probably not doing it justice. “ _My very own brother betrays me-_ ”

“Your sister sounds lovely,” Erik stage-whispers, then grins, and something about that smile makes Charles want to back away slowly, dropping distractions in his path, and then Erik _moans_ , and none of Charles’ instincts work anymore because there is _no blood left in his brain_.

There’s a pause, then a wolf-whistle and a round of applause from the phone.

“Erik - what - _no_ ,” Charles says, scrambling back and pulling the sheets with him, and Erik gasps, a deep breath sucked in, and it sounds like they’re _cheering_ on the other end of the phone.

“Oh god,” Raven says, sounding ill, “I do _not_ need to hear this,” which is just when Charles runs out of bed to back away across and falls off, and all the breath leaves his lungs and he’s pretty sure everyone on the phone heard that as well. He finally manages to get to the phone and hang up, and he looks at it as if it might explode in his hand.

He looks at Erik for a moment, and Erik looks up at him and starts _laughing_ , the bastard, and Charles throws the fucking phone at his head.

“You _fuck_ ,” he says, “you utter fucking _bastard_ ,” and he collapses into the chair and, to his complete astonishment, laughs until his ribs hurt.

Erik finally stops laughing and rolls back onto his chest, looking up at Charles through the wild mess of his hair. “Sorry,” he says, still grinning. “I really couldn’t resist.”

“She’ll never let it go,” he informs Erik over his pile of sheets. “I hate you from the very bottom of my broken heart.”

“Ah, so worth it, though,” Erik says. “Sure I can’t get you a band-aid for your heart?”

“You can get that shirt off the ceiling fan before room service does,” says Charles, “how did it even get up there in the first place?”

“Oh, of course,” Erik says, “sorry, I didn’t -” and he stretches up for the shirt and throws it on the sofa, then rummages through a duffel bag just inside the door.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a faded grey hoodie and dark jeans and throwing them at Charles. “They should fit - the jeans are a bit small for me.”

“Are you calling me short,” Charles says, and then has a brief dilemma over whether to catch the clothes or hold up his sheets, and while he thinks about it reflex takes over and his hands snatch the clothes out of the air by themselves. The sheets end up in a tangle around his feet.

“Right,” Charles says, flushing, “I’ll just - go and -”

Erik looks far too smug as Charles flees into the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

The jeans are actually a little big, and Charles wrinkles his nose at the drag of the denim at his heels.  “I’m going to ruin these,” he tells Erik.  “The hems will get all shredded.”

“It’s all right,” Erik says.  “They’re small, like I said, and whatever Emma says, I’m not going to wear skinny jeans every day.”

“Emma,” Charles says, trying very carefully to not sound jealous.  

“My PA,” Erik says.  “Are you jealous?”

Fuck your perception to kingdom come and back , Charles thinks, and says, “No, why would I be?”

“Because you’re holding on to that hoodie like it’s the last thing between you and the apocalypse,” Erik says, pulling a t-shirt over his head.  Charles uncurls his fingers from the sleeves, and puts them into the pocket instead so that he won’t look like some kind of diminutive bird of prey with its talons hooked into the fabric.

“Thanks,” he says awkwardly.  “I suppose I’ll just - “  He gestures at the door.

“Oh, no,” Erik says, “let me walk you, at least - to a cab or something.  It’ll give Emma an aneurysm.”

They’re silent through the elevator ride downstairs and all the way out of the lobby, but the second they step onto the pavement there’s a shriek and someone honest to god falls out of a  tree .  A flashbulb goes off, and then another, and even the man who fell out of the tree manages to get a shot in on his way down.

“Sorry,” Erik says, and he actually does sound a little sorry as he stuffs Charles into the backseat of a cab.  “Here,” he says, and tosses his phone in the window.  

“I’ve already got one,” Charles says.  

“Not that I know the number to,” Erik says, and vanishes back into the hotel, pursued by a horde of photographers and fans.

Charles leans back against the leather seat and stares at the phone in his lap and wonders exactly what Raven is going to do when he gets home.  He wonders just what he’s gotten himself into, then he curls up a little in the hoodie and wonders why Erik smells so good.

Charles considers himself completely and utterly fucked.

\---

Actually, he doesn’t have to worry about anything Raven may or may not do.  Charles climbs out of the cab outside the brownstone they all share and turns around to tip the driver; another cab pulls up behind them and Raven climbs out, and Charles fights the instinct to throw his entire wallet at the driver and run until he comes to an ocean.

He suppresses the urge, and says, “Would you mind not killing me until I’ve paid the driver and had a coffee?”

Raven actually lets him get halfway through his second coffee before she starts in on him.

“You broke my heart,” she says.  “Do you even know how long I waited to meet him.”

“Since birth,” Charles says, and then, since she’s edging dangerously near to the knife drawer, “oh my god, don’t hurt me, that was actually literal, you were born with a yearning for Erik Lensherr, you said it yourself.”

“Was it at least good?” Raven says.  “Tell me it was at least good.”

“We didn’t fuck,” Charles says, “oh god, I really never thought I’d say this to my sister, but  we didn’t fuck,  can you get that into your brain?  Oh god I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry put down the toaster. ”

Raven holds the toaster close.  “I never expected to hear Erik Lensherr making those noises, okay,” she says.

“Are those twigs in your hair?” Charles asks, momentarily distracted.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, putting the toaster aside.

Charles has a sneaking suspicion.  “That man in the tree,” he says.

“He put up a brave fight,” Raven says.  “What can I say?  In the end he graciously stepped down to give the lady a seat.”

“Well, all right,” Charles says, “he got a photo in anyway, I’m sure he’s happy.”

“Oh god, the paparazzi,” Raven says.  “I forgive you everything; just wait, the paparazzi will be after you like the Furies.  I don’t even think I can do anything as bad as they can given three years of preparation.”

“Thank you,” says Charles, “I’m glad you decided to have mercy after all.”

The fucking phone in Charles’ pocket rings.

“That’s not your phone,” Raven says, and makes a mad grab for the toaster.

“Charles Xavier,” a voice says, steely and cold and terrifying.

“Hello,” Charles says.

“This is Emma,” the voice says, “you may have heard of me.”  
  
“I am so so sorry,” Charles says, “I mean, in advance of whatever you’re about to say, and I’ll never do it again.”

“The paparazzi caught you,” Emma says.  “Google Erik Lensherr.”

Raven clatters back into the room, holding her laptop.

There’s ten seconds of blessed silence.

“Hollywood Heartthrob and Hobbit Sighting,” Raven reads, and then screams with laughter and buries her head in her arms.

“You’re the Hobbit,” Emma informs Charles.

“What,” Charles says.  “What.”

“You’re short and you have huge blue eyes and messy hair,” Emma says, “which has the unfortunate side effect of convincing half the internet that you’re fucking Erik.”

“What,” Charles says.  “This isn’t fair, I didn’t even get to -”

“Stop talking,” Emma and Raven say in unison.

“I don’t believe you anyway,” Raven says, at the same time that Emma says, “So in order to clear up the clusterfuck that you have suddenly made my life, we are going to have coffee, in the cafe at the hotel - do you even remember where it is?  good - in ten minutes.”

“What,” says Charles.

“You sound like a broken record,” Emma and Raven say.

“I’ll see you there,” Emma says, and hangs up.

Charles looks at Raven.  “Erik said Emma would have an aneurysm,” he says.  “If only I had known.”

“They’ve already photoshopped your ears pointy,” Raven says, pointing at her laptop screen.

Charles considers making his will.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma is exactly as terrifying as she sounds.

When Charles gets to the cafe, she’s dissecting an omelette.  There’s already two coffees on the table.

“You’re very efficient,” he says, for lack of something better to do.

“Mr. Xavier,” she says, “if you were Erik Lensherr’s PA, you’d have to be terribly efficient too.”  She jabs the egg with what Charles considers to be unwonted viciousness, but considering that it could be his hand instead, he can’t find it in himself to point this out.

Charles pulls out a chair and sits down.  Emma doesn’t invite him to, but she doesn’t stab him either, so Charles considers it acceptable.

“I really am sorry,” he says, putting as much sincerity into the sentence as he can given that he hasn’t had coffee yet.  “I actually had no idea it was him.”

Emma looks up from her plate at that, and raises an eyebrow.  “Not to be pointed,” she says, “or actually to be very pointed, but do you ever - go out at all?”

“You’re as bad as Raven,” Charles mutters.  “No, I don’t,” he says for public consumption.  “The last film I saw was - huh, actually I have no idea.  The premiere, but I was slightly very drunk.”

“You fell into the hotel pool,” Emma says.  “I think you were very very drunk.  I’m actually surprised you can stand to be awake this early.”

“I can’t,” Charles confesses.  “But I’d rather be awake when you kill me.”

Emma sets her fork down and pushes her plate aside.  “Charles,” she says.  “As much as it would give me pleasure to do so, I don’t think I can really afford to under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Charles says.

Emma gestures at the window.

There are three photographers Charles can see and the waiter has his cell phone out.  Recording, probably, for god knows how long already.

“Oh god, what do I do?” Charles says.

Emma sighs.  “I almost feel bad,” she says, then looks at the photographers again.  “Actually I don’t really.”  She takes a sip of her coffee and Charles remembers that his exists and wraps his hands around it for warmth.  “Erik has - a bad romantic history,” she says, “as in he’s actually a dick a lot of the time.”

“Really,” Charles says, and takes a sip of coffee to avoid screaming or doing anything similarly embarrassing.

“He’s actually a complete nightmare,” Emma says, leaning forward.  “I can’t remember him ever seeing anyone for more than two days in the last, oh, six months?  And of course the tabloids have been all over that.  So what I need is for him to look relatively stable for, give or take, two months.”

Charles takes another sip of coffee, because he feels it’ll probably be his last, and he doesn’t want to die without caffeine in his veins.

“Your mission, Mr. Xavier,” Emma says, “should you choose to accept it - “

“Wait, what?” Charles says.  “Is this a pop culture thing?”

“Yes,” Emma says, “I really shouldn’t have tried.”

“Not really,” Charles says.

“Anyway,” Emma says.  “You are going to be his boyfriend for the next two months.  You will be seen in public feeding ducks or whatever you do when you’re not reading encyclopedias.  You will go to his premieres and his parties - though all you have to do is be there, preferably within a twenty-foot radius of him.”

“I’m not going to be your rent-boy,” Charles says.

“Of course not,” Emma says.  “And you don’t really have to do this.  You can at any time go and explain to all seventeen tabloids that have been following Erik that you were just another one-night-stand.”

Charles accidentally inhales his coffee and spends five minutes trying to get it out of his lungs.

“I didn’t think so either,” Emma says.  “You don’t really have to do anything besides be with him, you know.  You don’t even have to hold his hand or any of that.”

Charles puts his head in his hands.

“I just got dragged to a premiere by my sister,” he says to no one in particular.  “What have I ever done to deserve this.”

“None of us ever do anything to deserve Erik,” Emma says, pushing back her chair.  “He just happens to us.  Have breakfast on me, Mr. Xavier.”  And she pushes her way out through the gathering crowd, heels setting a brisk rhythm.

\---

Charles calls Raven and explains everything to her.  He thinks that she stops listening and starts screaming after he says “Raven, I’m dating Erik,” which is why within the next four hours the entire campus knows that Charles Xavier is dating Erik Lensherr, and then Charles is afraid to go home, because Raven is probably lying in wait with a cleaver or something.

Of course he has to go home eventually.

“It’s for publicity,” he says, and tries not to breathe too much, because Raven actually does have one of the pointier kitchen knives handy.  “Erik Lensherr’s PA says that he needs good publicity because he’s been shagging his way across the country and - “

“Because he’s been what?” Raven says, and Charles senses that she’s lost the thread again.  He takes the chance to ease himself off the floor and sit up.

“Let me make coffee and explain,” he says.

\---

“Stop laughing,” he says, “oh my god, are you even breathing?”

“No,” Alex says, because Raven is too busy literally turning blue from where she’s fallen off her chair.

“You can’t tell anyone, because Emma will kill me with her heels or a fork or possibly her bare hands,” Charles says.

Raven hiccups her way to a stop.  “Sounds like my kind of person.”

“I’m sure they’ll end up visiting a lot,” Charles says, and then Raven starts making high-pitched noises reminiscent of a dying cat, so he stops.  “Though I’m not sure I want you learning from her, she’s bloody terrifying.”

“Hey,” says Raven, “how bad can it be?”

“Oh god,” says Alex, “you said it, now we’re in for it.”


	8. Chapter 8

It can be, in fact,  pretty fucking bad .  
  
Pretty fucking bad is what happens when Charles can’t actually remember the last time he slept, because he’s spent the last week being dragged to photocalls and parties and soirées and drinks with the cast, and he thinks he’s actually going to keel over.  
  
“Why can’t you sleep during the day?” Raven asks.  “Wow, you’re getting zombie eyes.”  She leans in to look closer.  “Unless you just, you know, got punched in the face twice.”  
  
Charles can’t actually tell her why he can’t sleep during the day.  The reason he  should be not sleeping during the day is his upcoming thesis presentation.  The reason he  actually isn’t sleeping during the day?  Because he’s working his way through Erik’s filmography.  
  
“Wow,” says Raven.  “Did you know you said that aloud?”  
  
“Fuck,” Charles says.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  
  
“Now,” Raven says, “I’m going to say ‘Oh, Charles, I bet you’re doing that so you can show knowledge of his movies while you’re sticking your tongue down his throat at all these parties, isn’t that right?’ and if you say yes I will know two hundred percent that you are lying your ass off.”  
  
“Uh, right,” Charles says.  
  
Raven grins and twirls around, heading for the door.  “You are doomed,” she says, “you are absolutely doomed.”  
  
Alex sticks his head in.  “We have a pool going,” he informs Charles, “based on who gets you first - Emma or sleep deprivation.”  
  
“Emma,” Charles says.  “Can I get in on this?”  
  
\---  
  
Thing is, though, the soirées aren’t even that difficult to get through - all Charles needs to do is wear a suit and, essentially, be arm candy.  And possibly get very drunk as well, though there has not, thankfully, been a repeat of the pool incident.  Yet.  Yet probably being the operative word.  
  
Contrary to what Raven thinks, as well, there hasn’t been any kissing either - which is, Charles thinks, a bit of a cheat.  Surely the paparazzi are getting a bit anxious - and, if truth be told, so is he.  
  
“Penny for your thoughts?” Erik says, appearing behind Charles’ shoulder.  
  
“Oh, nothing much,” Charles says.  “Just wondering if Emma was about to turn up and stab me in the kidneys or something.”  
  
And something twists in Erik’s face - something miniscule, because he is, after all, an actor, and a very good one.  “She wouldn’t actually do that,” he says to Charles.  “She has a bit of a soft spot for you - possibly it’s the Tolkien references.”  
  
Charles isn’t sure, but he thinks Erik is about to say something else - but then he disappears into the press of the crowd.  
  
Charles gets very, very drunk.  
  
\---  
  
“Fuck,” Charles says, which is basically the mood music for his life so far.  “Turn the sun off.”  
  
“Nope,” Raven says, perching on the edge of his bed.  “I will let you have this aspirin when you tell me what happened last night.”  
  
“I got drunk,” Charles says, “what does it look like?  Very, very drunk.”  He tries to smother himself with the pillow.  
  
Darwin steps into view, which means that he steps into view and then pries the pillow out of Charles’ hands.  “You were muttering about not being appreciated,” he says.  “Raven wants to know exactly what you meant.”  
  
“I - ugh, Darwin, really?” Raven says.  “I had a cunning plan!  I had a lead-up and everything!”  
  
“That would have failed miserably,” Darwin says.  Charles snorts.  
  
“Look,” Charles says, and maybe he’s still residually drunk, because that is literally the only explanation for what he says next.  “I maybe sort of like this guy a little a lot and ghhh.”  
  
His brain catches up with his mouth and he bolts straight upright.  There’s a splash as the cup of water that Raven’s holding goes flying.  Somewhere at the foot of the bed Sean screeches and Angel starts laughing hysterically.  
  
“Oh my god, you’re all here?” Charles says, doubling over and clutching his head.  
  
“Oh my god, you  like like him,” Angel says, wheezing.  “Oh my god, I win, Emma’s going to kill him, can I have my winnings now?”  
  
“And Emma likes me, apparently,” Charles says, and she honest-to-god falls over, face-first into the duvet.  
  
“ You have her blessing, ” she manages to gasp, before Sean drags her out of the room.  
  
“Charles,” Raven says.  
  
“Please don’t kill me,” Charles says, and looks up in surprise when Raven drops two aspirin into his lap.  
  
“Look, I’m over my crush on him,” she says, “if only because next to yours it absolutely quails in patheticness.”  
  
“I’m not pathetic,” Charles whines.  
  
“You are so pathetic,” she says.  “You are pathetic and that is why I am here to help you get the guy.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Darwin says, and flees.  
  
“Oh my god,” Alex says, and follows Darwin out.  
  
“Oh my god,” Charles says, and tries to phase through the bed.  
  
Raven grins.


End file.
